


Vast Rooms, Tiny Windows

by stupidinspaces



Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Angst, Bram POV, Emails, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-05 15:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14047509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupidinspaces/pseuds/stupidinspaces
Summary: For someone who’s good with words, Bram finds it hard to express himself, until he meets a person online who gives him doses of courage. He’s still not the bravest guy, but if he could just find courage in the most important occassions, he really wouldn’t mind so much.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Still not done digesting this book and this movie. Keep thinking about Bram’s thoughts and feelings throughout the different events. What better idea than to write a freaking 20+ pages (and counting) fanfiction about Bram and his feelings?!
> 
> Meant to be read parallell to the book. I’ve altered some major and minor things, however.

Bram never saw the divorce coming. He thinks he would have if he’d been old enough to know that love stories didn’t necessarily end with happily ever afters. Because looking back, his parents left a trail of clues:

Harsh whispers in the middle of the night- his mom and dad trying hard to keep the sounds of their fighting away from his room. His mom finding more and more excuses to stay out of the house; either because of work, church groups, or volunteer work for the school. 

What should have been a dead giveaway though, was when he woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and found his dad sitting on the couch with their family portrait in his hand. There was something about the way the light fell on him or the slump of his shoulders that just radiated sadness. The image scared Bram, though he couldn’t say why. 

“Dad?” he’d asked, suddenly not sure if he could call out to this man, because while the man on the couch shared features with his dad, he had never seen his dad in that manner before.

His dad didn’t say anything for what felt like a very long time; Bram almost accepted that the man who looked like his dad didn’t hear him, but then there was a soft, “Go back to sleep, son.”

The next day, he had come home from school and found his parents sitting on the couch together. He stood by the doorway and thought for a while why this image was so strange when he realized that it had been some time since he saw his parents sitting on the couch together. There was something wrong with the picture, however. There was no laughing, the television wasn’t turned on, and they both stared at him with fixed and tired smiles. 

“Hey, honey, how was school?” they’d asked, along with other relevant small talk questions, until finally they shared a look, and his dad said, “There’s something we have to tell you, buddy…”

Sometimes, they said, mommies and daddies didn’t want to live together anymore because they disagreed on so many things. Divorce they called it, and divorce, they said, happened all the time.

His parents were extra attentive to him the next few weeks, which should have made him happy, but only highlighted the fact that there was something wrong with their family. They probably wanted to soften the blow of what would come next, when they told him they would be going someplace called the courthouse right after Dairy Queen. They told him before he finished his Orange Julius and he became too nauseated to even finish it. 

At the courthouse, there was a lot of waiting before he was brought into a room with lots of sad looking toys where they asked him who he would rather stay with, “they” referring to a woman in a crisp red suit and a man with soft curves around his eyes.

They asked him in a roundabout way, first telling him a story (with visuals) of a family hiking in the forest. The family consisted of a mommy, a daddy, and their child. 

All throughout the story, Bram thought about how the figures looked nothing like his family. The mom had straight blonde hair, unlike his mom who had an afro. The dad was bald, unlike his dad who had a full head of hair. And the kid had red hair, unlike him who had dark and curly hair. He thought about how they were obviously meant to represent them anyway, or else they would be finishing up Orange Julius at Dairy Queen instead of at the courthouse. 

The family walked and walked through the forest, but then they came to a crossroad, and mommy and daddy couldn’t agree which way to go. They were both so stubborn and tired that in the end, they decided to explore both of the ways separately and see who was right. “Imagine you were the child, who would you rather go with?” 

Even as a child, he understood that his answer would change everything, that the “divorce” his parents were trying to explain was the separation of mommy and daddy at the crossroads. 

He had been unable to come up with an answer and so the judge came up with one for him. 

Dad stayed with them, “until he found his own place.” Apparently that was a few weeks later, when Bram woke up to pancakes and bacon for breakfast that tasted nothing like pancakes and bacon. 

His parents started packing that afternoon, after his father had sat him down to tell him that, “Hey, buddy. Don’t you worry, okay? Daddy’s moving just a few streets away from here. It’s going to be your second home, okay? You can come anytime. In fact, why don’t you come visit a few days from now and I can give you a tour?” 

It was strange to think of a house his father would be living in where he would be “visiting” and needed to be toured. It was strange to see his father with tears in his eyes. 

His mom helped his dad pack. Bram wanted to yell at her, “Don’t you know this will only make him leave sooner?” 

But of course she knew, she was in on it.

Bram didn’t help with the packing; he just sat on his bed, fiddling with his Spiderman action figure. He used to imagine that if he could pull off the mask on his action figure, it would reveal his father’s face. 

There was a knock on his door before his dad stepped in. He walked in gingerly and sat at the edge of the bed for a long time without speaking.

It never felt intrusive for his dad to sit on his bed before. But then again, his dad had never been a guest at their house before. 

“Remember that this doesn’t change anything, okay, buddy?”

In response, Bram had rolled over, said “whatever” and shut his eyes until he heard a heavy sigh, followed by shuffled footsteps, and the door closing softly. 

He thought the body-shaking sobs after the door clicked would make the tightness in his chest go away, but it only seemed to get worse. Even his mom’s hugs, kisses and tears couldn’t help, and they were usually the best remedy for anything that hurt. 

The worst part was wondering if he had said anything, anything other than “whatever,” he could have convinced his dad to stay.

In retrospect, Bram wonders if it was somewhere around that time that he stopped seeing his dad as some sort of superhero, because he was wrong about one big thing. Everything did change.


	2. Chapter 2

FROM: bluegreen118  
TO: hourtohour.notetonote  
DATE: Oct 15 at 9:16 PM  
SUBJECT: hi 

Thank you for responding to my post. Even just that one word meant a lot to me. (Who knew “THIS” could be so efficient?) It means a lot that there is someone else out there, in - I’m assuming - the same town, the same school, that is going through the exact same thing as I am. 

I would really like to keep talking to you, but if you don’t mind, I would like to keep my identity secret for now. I don’t think I’m ready for anyone else looking at me and knowing. I hope you understand. 

\- Blue

 

FROM: hourtohour.notetonote  
TO: bluegreen118  
DATE: Oct 15 at 10:43 PM  
SUBJECT: when you knew

Blue,  
What can I say, I’m a man of few words. Good for my Twitter feed. For my English essays on the other hand…

In all seriousness, your post really touched me, Blue. It was like you pulled the thoughts right out of my head. I feel that way almost every day, so I didn’t have anything else to add. Or maybe your post just made me so speechless that I wasn’t able to say anything else. 

Of course I understand. Not knowing each other’s names works for me, I’m not ready for anyone else knowing either. I’m so happy that you would like to talk to me as well, Blue. There is no one else I can talk to about this stuff. 

If you wouldn’t mind, I can start us off… When did you know you were gay and how? 

\- Jacques 

 

FROM: bluegreen118  
TO: hourtohour.notetonote  
DATE: Oct 16 at 9:14 PM  
SUBJECT: Re: when you knew

Jacques,  
I can just imagine the struggle to meet the required page count. Have you tried typing with a bigger font? 

Wow. I didn’t think anyone else would have the exact same feelings I have. Sometimes I’m reminded that we all have more in common than differences. Thank you, Jacques. 

I’ve known since I was 12. I suppose it all started with this older guy I met at my dad and my stepmom’s wedding (my parents are divorced). I still don’t know his name, but I later found out that he was my stepmom’s cousin. He’s definitely not aware that he’s responsible for my sexual awakening. 

At the time, I didn’t understand why I was so eager to impress him. He sat across from me at the dinner table, which made me self-conscious of how I ate, but of course he didn’t even look at me other than to tell me to pass the salt. 

At one point I tried to impress him with my knowledge of airplanes. I walked into the bathroom and found him alone inside. There were only two urinals so of course, I had to take the one next to him. I was so nervous, I almost couldn’t go. 

Midway through, I cleared my throat and told him, “Did you know airplanes are built to withstand lightning?” This was just about the coolest fact I knew at that time. 

He just looked at me, chuckled and said, “That’s interesting, kid.” I was ready to melt in a puddle of goo at his feet when he called me that. 

At the end of the reception, I was forced by my parents to stand by the exit to say goodbye to relatives and other guests. When I saw him say his goodbyes to the other guests and progressively made his way to the door, I kept praying for him not to notice me, but how could he forget the weird kid in the urinals? He came up to me like he’d been looking for me, ruffled my hair and said, “Bye, kid. Watch out for those lightning bolts.” That hair ruffle did some interesting things to me at the time. 

Thinking about everything that happened now, I just want to die from embarrassment. Even though it was the last thing I wanted him to think about me at the time, I take comfort in the fact that he only saw me as a kid (abundantly clear from the way he kept addressing me) and my urinal faux pas could hopefully pass as just some weird kid antic. 

I’m also guilty of some cliches; I fell in love with my best friend. That kind of cemented some suspicions for me. My best friend and I have known each other for a long time, we do almost everything together. There was a time I kept myself hopeful, reading into every affectionate gesture, but alas he’s painfully straight. I had to force myself to get over him since he’s been crushing on the same girl since middle school. I used to fantasize that his crush would be nothing more than a phase and that he’d one day realize that the love of his life was right next to him all along… (The irony, right? I’m anticipating the exact same spiel from my parents when they find out about me.)

I’ve never told anyone those stories before. Sometimes they would keep me up at night from either embarrassment or plain teenage angst, or more likely, a combination of both. Now that I’m telling them to you, I’m starting to see the funny side to them… 

How about you, Jacques? How long have you known? 

\- Blue


	3. Chapter 3

He finds out about Creek Secrets thanks to some douchebags from the football team while waiting for AP history class to start. 

“I don’t believe this,” Brad tilts his phone to Pence sitting next to him. “Who would wanna fuck him? Not even the ugliest girl would touch that.”

It’s one of those times Bram wishes he did have a superhero identity, with which he could freely say what he wanted. As it is, he can’t even find it in him to give them a dirty look.

Pence scoots closer and laughs, “I heard it’s Sarah. You know that chick in the marching band? She’s desperate, man.” He scrolls down his phone. “Haha, I bet this is that girl Leah, she’s so weird.”

Bram looks to his friend Garrett, who predictably looks like he’s getting ready for a fight. Bram already knew of Garrett’s complete head over heels crush for Leah, so he expected nothing less than teeth grinding and jaw clenching. Garrett is protective over his friends, and even more so over the girl he likes. This was one of his traits that made Bram fall in love with him in middle school, and one of the traits that made letting go of his unrequited love so painful. 

Fortunately, Garrett doesn’t need to get into any confrontation, Brad and Pence quickly move on to the next item of gossip. 

When the teacher finally arrives, the rest of the class proceeds without much fanfare; most of the excitement comes when the class collectively gather their stuff as soon as the bell rings, interrupting Mr. Capernaum mid-sentence.

“Give me a ride home,” Garrett says as they’re packing up their bags. “My car broke down again.”

“Time to retire Sweet Smokey,” Bram says, not without a little glee. He fears for his life every time he’s forced to ride in Garrett’s car; it always feels like it will give its last puff at any second. 

“Blasphemy,” Garrett says. 

“It’s not blasphemy.”

“Why not?”

“Because your car is like the opposite of holy, dude.”

Garrett laughs, “Asshole.”

 

It should be impossible, but Garrett looks even more comfortable in Bram’s car than Bram himself. “You got any Jason Aldean in here?” he asks, fiddling with Bram’s iPod.

Bram’s downloaded all of his albums, actually, remnants from his middle school infatuation. “Yeah, it should be under, uhm--”

“Found it.” The first guitar riffs of “Dirt Road Anthem” start playing.

Bram looks at Garrett, who is completely at ease in his car with _freaking Jason Aldean_ playing. It’s amazing and weird, Bram reflects, how significantly a person can affect another. How Bram only knows about Jason Aldean and can sing along to every single one of his songs because of the boy next to him. And how amazing and weird for him to have absolutely no clue of his influence.

At the height of his infatuation, however, Bram analyzed every interaction in the light of Garrett knowing, convinced that his feelings for his friend were obvious. 

It makes Bram think of people being like houses with vast rooms and tiny windows, and yet they can still feel so exposed, like their walls are made of glass. 

He clears his throat, “So what were those douchebags talking about earlier in class? Or, before class started, I mean.” Sometimes his friend can be even more pedantic than him.

Garrett shakes his head. “There’s this fucked up blog called Creek Secrets. It’s on this shitty website called Tumblr. All they do is post spiteful rumors and make up Bible quotes.” 

Garrett started swearing every other sentence during their first year of high school, which was, and still is, hilarious considering how politely he talks to his parents.

“Have you ever been featured there?”

Garrett shrugs, “Haven’t checked. I’ll kick their asses if they put something on there about me.” He leans back and starts singing along.

After a while, Bram starts singing along too. He actually hasn’t listened to Jason Aldean in a couple of years, he stopped when he first forced himself to get over his friend. It surprises him how quickly the words still come, and how strongly he recalls being fifteen and in love, daydreaming about his best friend while these exact same songs played over and over again in the background. 

He still remembers his friend’s whispered confession that finally broke the illusion, the flush on his cheeks at the thought of a girl instead of a boy which made Bram realize - remember - two things at the same time. One, that he was different from everyone else. Two, that things wouldn’t always be as easy for him. 

 

He’s sitting at his desk, working on his assignments for next week so he can enjoy his weekend with his dad when he remembers Creek Secrets. Even though Garrett claimed it was nothing but “fucked up,” he’s still curious about the contents of the website. He’s curious about one type of secret, specifically. 

He opens an incognito window to Google his way to the Tumblr. It comes up as the third search result. As Garrett described, it looks tacky and is full of misquotations of the Bible. He scrolls past the typo-ridden posts, down the entirety of the website, hoping to find a post about another gay kid at school. He finds none.

Dejected, he creates a fake Gmail account, and then a Tumblr account with the fake Gmail account. Maybe these feelings can echo somewhere else for once, rather than just in his chest. 

He spends more time than he’d planned composing his confession. He’s spent less time on three-page English essays and he’s only written five lines so far. He can’t regret the care and time he spends crafting his post, however, posting this feels momentous, a moment he’ll remember forever- the first time he truly comes out.

Bram has a pretty busy schedule with running early in the morning before school, soccer practice in the evenings, and church activities or spending time with his dad in the weekends. He doesn’t have time to log on to the computer very often. Even after posting his secret out to the Tumblr, he doesn’t believe there would be reason to- he wasn’t expecting any replies. 

When he finally does log into his fake email, there are ten new messages. The first three are welcome messages from Gmail. The next seven are notifications from Tumblr. A porn website has apparently started following him, five people heart his post, and he has a private message from an Anonymous. It’s dated from a week ago. It simply says, “THIS” and has an email address attached to it. 

The email address doesn’t give away the identity of the sender. It’s likely he’d (she’d?) created a fake gmail account for the same purpose as Bram. 

Heart hammering, he sends a reply to Anonymous, already feeling a couple of pounds lighter from the knowledge that there is someone, somewhere, close- in the same town and same school, that is facing the same hardships as him. He’s not alone.

Of course, he’s seen the “Things Get Better” campaigns and, statistically, he knows that he can’t be the only gay kid in a school of 1500 students. He didn’t realize, though, how practically different it feels to have proof in the writing. 

The next day at school, he can’t help but look around in the hallways, in his classes, in the cafeteria, in soccer practice, for the one kid that could have written the reply to his post. 

Prior to the private message on Tumblr, there were times he would look for clues that there was another student that shared the same secret as him, but it always felt like he was grasping at air. 

He knows it’s not exactly fair to “hourtohour.notetonote” that he’s trying to figure out their identity when he himself just asked to remain anonymous, but he can’t help it. It’s like he’s gotten permission to speculate. Before, he’d felt so guilty even considering the possibility of other students being gay unless they explicitly said so. As if his speculation would somehow be offensive to them. Now he’s questioning, why should straight be the default? Why should it be offensive to be thought of as gay? It’s only offensive if it was something shameful, which Bram is coming to accept that being gay is not. 

When he comes home, he breaks his routine and logs into his email first. He exhales in giddy relief at the sight of new non-spam email in his inbox. The email is signed “Jacques.” So the person is also another boy. Even though he’s just had a revelation about identities, he’s relieved that they share the same gender. He feels even more connected to the other person, like the struggles they’re going through are even more similar. 

...And hey, maybe he’s even one of the cuter guys at school?

He wants to reply straight away, as if the stranger on the other side will become impatient and leave if he takes too long, but before he can even start composing an email, his mom calls for him to help with dinner. He’s antsy and inattentive throughout, which makes her suspicious, but he laughs it off. He’s not able to reply until after he’s finished cleaning up, but when he does, the words come easily.


	4. Chapter 4

FROM: bluegreen118  
TO: hourtohour.notetonote  
DATE: Oct 19 at 8:01 AM  
SUBJECT: The obligatory…

Okaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyy.  
(Eyebrows, butthole mouth, etc.)

\- Blue

 

FROM: hourtohour.notetonote  
TO: bluegreen118  
DATE: Oct 19 at 3:16 PM  
SUBJECT: Re: The Obligatory… 

Blue,  
Thanks. Even just reading that, and even knowing you’re joking, brings me back to feeling like a dork in middle school. 

Okay, Blue, question time. What is your biggest pet peeve? Mine is probably people being pretentious. I was talking to this salesperson today and he said, “A lot of people buy-” then paused and said, “purchase-” He seriously did a verbal backspace-backspace-backspace-rewrite. They’re freaking synonyms...

\- Jacques 

 

FROM: bluegreen118  
TO: hourtohour.notetonote  
DATE: Oct 20 at 8:22 PM  
SUBJECT: don’t hate me cuzz i’m beautiful

Jacques,  
Hey, man. Dorks are people too. 

Sorry to say it, Jacques, but like your salesperson, I am also pretentious. I completely see where he’s coming from. Buy and purchase are synonyms, but how can you assert dominance with “buy”?

My biggest pet peeve right now is when people text “cafe” instead of “caf” for cafeteria, when the sender personally pronounces it as “caf.” One of my cousins does this to me all the time. I want to tell her to please start calling me instead of texting me. If I do that, though, I concede defeat. I’m positive she only does it because she knows how much I dislike it. (Why else would she sneak in a reference to a cafeteria almost every time she texts me?)

\- Blue 

 

FROM: hourtohour.notetonote  
TO: bluegreen118  
DATE: Oct 20 at 9:03 PM  
SUBJECT: Re: don’t hate me cuzz i’m beautiful

Blue,  
I already knew you are pretentious. I downloaded all sorts of spell checkers on my browser so you won’t see a typo and break off communication with me forever. Yours is a natural pretentiousness though, like you’re just inherently nerdy, and not trying to show you’re better than others by obviously thesaurus-ing IRL. Could also just be my bias for you. 

Acheter. There, I assert even more dominance by using a foreign language.

Oooh, that’s pretty big ammunition to give me, Blue. Rest assured, I will only use this power for good. 

\- Jacques

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try to be, but I’m not remotely as cute and grammatical as Bram and Simon. Proofreading my own work is like cleaning up mess with a dirty rag. Eh, help? (Send me a message if you are grammatical and would be interested in proofreading!)


	5. Chapter 5

Bram doesn’t know if it’s unfortunate or fortunate that the sitting arrangement between him and Simon Spier in Mr. Wise’s English class aren’t switched. On one hand, it’s good that he can’t get distracted by the curl of brown hair at Simon’s nape, or Simon’s nape, or Simon’s anything in general, during class. On the other hand, sometimes he feels self-conscious knowing that a cute boy is sitting behind him. He’s worried that he’ll have stray hairs at the back of his head that would make Simon think he’s a slob or something. 

He’s not really friends with Simon, though they sit in the same lunch table. It’s hard to be friends with somebody you can barely talk to. 

Bram tends to clam up whenever he’s around cute guys, which just adds another level on the difficulty scale for his love life. Sometimes he wishes he could blame the entirety of the non-existence of his love life on that one weakness, but of course things aren’t that simple.

One time, Simon had borrowed a handout from him in class. When Simon returned it to him with a hurried, “Thanks, and thanks for your notes on the margin too, they’re really helpful,” Bram had just smiled and nodded. 

He’d kicked himself mentally. What use was being good with words when he couldn’t even use them? Later on, he thought of all the things he could have said. Something smooth, like, “There’s more where that came from…” 

…Then again, maybe it was for the best he kept his mouth shut.

It’s all thanks to Garrett they sit in the same lunch table. They’re friends with Nick since they’re all on the soccer team, but the real reason is that Garrett wants to sit in the same table as Leah. 

Sometimes, Garrett’s crush on Leah is really convenient. For Bram. It isn’t necessarily as convenient for Garrett himself; Leah only seems to really want to notice Nick nowadays. 

Once the bell rings for lunch hour, students practically leap out of their seats. As usual, Simon is one of the first out the door, even though lately he’s been one of the last ones to arrive at the lunch table. Bram takes his time, making small talk with Mr. Wise before heading out to his locker to grab his lunch bag. 

When he approaches their usual lunch table, he sees that the latest addition to their group is already seated. 

“Hey, Martin,” he says. 

Martin just nods in his general direction without disrupting his monologue. 

Bram doesn’t mind Martin Addison; Martin doesn’t seem to mind that Bram doesn’t talk much. He probably appreciates the extra time to talk, which is something Martin seems to really love to do. 

In fact, he’s launched into another of his monologues that have been dominating their already crowded lunch table lately. 

“Anyway, I’m so excited about my costume, there’s going to be green glitter all over the front. I haven’t decided yet if I’m adding red glitter too, or if that will look too Christmas-y…” Martin is saying. 

Lately, Bram has been looking at Martin to see if there’s any indication that he’s just had his world view tilted. Martin’s brother just came out over the summer. From the admittedly little knowledge Bram has, Martin’s family seems to be fine with it, if not a little overboard. He only found out because his mom is friends with the Addison matriarch. (Bram has no choice but to admit he’s a little pretentious for using phrases like this.) 

His mom talked about how Carter Addison’s parents are struggling with trying to connect with their son now. Bram thought it could be an opportunity to come out since the topic was brought up spontaneously, but he couldn’t when he thought about how his mom was probably thinking of how fortunate she was that she didn’t have to deal with that stress. 

Either way, Bram thinks any guy still cool with their brother after coming out couldn’t be too bad. 

Simon, on the other hand, doesn’t look too happy that Martin has to sit with them, even though he was the one who invited Martin over. He looks guilty about it too, which makes Bram wonder if he’s doing it out of pity. 

If Bram has one objection to Martin, though, it’s that the addition of another Cabaret cast means that lunch consisted increasingly of talks on the upcoming show. 

“Some of my lines are kind of ridiculous, it’s so hard to memorize them, there’s too much German,” Abby says, cutting into Martin’s monologue, looking stressed. There’s only three more months until the play. “I barely have my first line memorized.” 

“Really? I have all of mine memorized already,” Simon says. Bram laughs quietly to himself, he knows Simon doesn’t have a speaking role.

Abby reaches out to ruffle Simon’s hair. “Funny!”

Simon mock surrenders and yelps when Abby tries to tickle him, while Martin tries to say over the noise, “Don’t worry, Abby, I haven’t memorized mine either and I have twice as many lines.”

Garrett leans over and smirks at Leah, “I’m glad we don’t have to join the play,” he jabs a thumb in Abby and Martin’s direction, “How did you get out of it?”

Garrett, Nick, and Bram don’t have to be in the play since they’re on the soccer team; even though soccer practice starts after the play rehearsals. Bram is glad for it. Most of the time, it’s the only opportunity he has to email Jacques. 

Leah shrugs, trying to casually look on as Nick joins the jokes on Cabaret. “I just made some vague promises to Ms. Albright that I’ll be joining the talent show.”

Garrett laughs. Bram almost rolls his eyes, that boy is hopeless.

“And are you going to?”

Leah shrugs again. “Maybe I’ll copy paste some jokes from the internet and do some stand-up or something.”

Garrett raises an eyebrow, looking amused, “I’d like to see that.”

Normally, at this point, they would look dangerously close to another one of their mock debates, but Leah just looks more and more sullen the rowdier the other side of the table gets. 

Bram spends the rest of lunch thinking of witty comments to say, but ultimately ends up not saying any of them. He imagines his timing will be wrong, or that he’s not friendly enough with the others for them to appreciate him speaking up on their affairs. He looks at his watch. Three more hours until the end of sixth period. Three more hours until he can email Jacques, with whom he doesn’t feel like he’s stepping on eggshells all the time.


End file.
